363 Days
by Res Publica
Summary: A Series of Vignettes of the One Year War


**363 Days:**

Struggle at Odessa (?.10.0079)

Lt. Parker fidgeted in the tent walking end to end on loop as the sounds of Wrenchmonkees screamed at the suits, pilots, themselves, and raining beating on the tired Earth. It was dark then (in more ways than one). Then Captain Hayes walked in.

"Good news, the new model GMs just came in."

Lt. Parker ceased his sort of stroll at the opposite end of the tent, not even dignifying looking in our direction. "How many do we get?"

"Well since we totaled the Ground Types the mechanics are ditching two to repair one. Chief, you're on the Ground Type."

The scene of the Skirt came to my mind's eye. It looming over me Heat Rod ready for the kill before my main camera was destroyed, and terror of sitting in total darkness seeping into my heart waiting for the end.

Lt. Parker turned threw out his hands in exasperation. "And I was just getting used to it."

Captain Hayes took a seat at the table, and with a resounding grunt she sat down. "Luckily for you Parker, the fools up top decided to heed your whining so the new models are faster. Your luck is such that the new models use the same controls so you should handle just fine so shut your face hole." The Captain broke out the map laying it on the table.

"At 0400 hours We'll be relieving the 3rd MS Team from their position in the outskirts of the city. Command believes the Zeeks will continue attempting a breakout. Seems shit's getting rough out there for our spacenoid friends so it's our jobs to make sure it stays that way."

Captain Hayes sat up so we sat up and then she left. Lt. Parker turned to me gave me a look -the sort of look used when words lacked the match to the feeling- and left. I found my poncho and exited the tent.

The one thing the movies fail to capture about mobile suits is the size. I get that when they're five to fifteen kilometers out, and the Minovsky Particles are intent on maximum fuckery for the day that they looking like fuzzy small dots spewing forth tracers, but when you're sitting in the cockpit walking around (so to speak) knocking down trees with steps the size of cars you can't help but feel as if you possessed a giant. It remains to me amazing how unamazing it all became walking around in an 18-meter machine daily, fighting day in and out.

I end up in the rear of our little convoy with what would have been a Bloodhound Hover Truck scouting ahead of us. We keep the cockpits open en route for the most part I can the barrel of the 180mm and the extra handle which the Ground Type's hand supports it. Looking forward to the left I see Captain Hayes' GM with its extra antennas, a singular Beam Saber sticking out of the backpack, and one of the (then) fancy new Beam Spray guns attached to the back skirt armour. Hayes rotated the head constantly left to right to left to right on repeat. Even though he's totally alone in the front Lt. Parker only ever stares straight forwards. Then rockets began to rain.

The first one came from below whizzing past Parker and right in front of Hayes kicking up dirt, and branches from out of the earth.

"They're in the trunks let em have it!"

Parker was the first to tip droop GM's head down and fire the Vulcans. Branches splintered and cracked as the yellow pellets from hell became an early morning light show which tore Zeek infantry's limbs from their torso, or torso's from their limbs (whichever came first honestly).

Captain Hayes stomped and kicked trees next to her in an attempt to get just one more, and the Zeeks began fleeing. We set ourselves in a semicircle ready to give more to new contenders.

"Parker, Yark you two okay?"

"They bite a chunk out of my ankle armour, but I'm fine." It seems they hadn't repeated their mistake twice, and manage to actually hit Parker. We moved on with extra alertness, quiet, hatches closed.

When we had arrived the sun had yet to rise the ground was still damp and the buildings still scarred by shelling. A Bloodhound held a next to a building with people on top to access the terrain. Captain Hayes went up to the Bloodhound exchanged word then went back to us. "There's going to be four more hours of darkness so keep your head on a swivel they might try all sorts of shit". I noticed as 4th Team passed us and off the field, the truncated board that were once shields, scorch marks that littered their suits. "Good luck out there".

We waited and waited and waited and waited we became the embodiment of the word; always ready, but never active. The sun rose eventually along with the troubles of a new day. "Hayes noticing a- increase in Minovsk-…-ticles increasi-… -m seeing a … cloud north"

Hayes began "shoulder talking" with me "Chief take a knee down the road" pointing at where I was to be "Anything that comes within a kilometer of the bridge gets shrapnel breakfast". Then Captain Hayes left.

"Understood" the roar of cannons, exhaust of bazookas, and the screech of beams dominated the sky. I saw Lt. Parker's GM clear a building fall below my sight then across the river he went. Captain Hayes soon appeared following Lt. Parker turning towards me firing her Spray Gun over me. Then I had the serious misfortune failing to put two, and two together and then a Zaku's foot first landed on me in its attempt to clear the river.

The Zaku's weight was pushing the GM to the ground then I had the serious fortune of being dealt a Zaku that was equally unaware of me as I was of it leading to a Zaku sized dent into the street. Before it recovered I ditched the cannon, and drew my Beam Saber, slashed the mono-eye camera, and then stabbed the chest. Cutting through the paper mache that would kindly be called armour if not for the Beam. "HAAA-" and straight to the Zaku's cockpit, the pilot had only a moment to scream before being cut off by the Beam Saber vaporizing them.

I buckled as they had given me no respite. A pair of Skirts bombarding me immediately following the death of their comrade. The missiles going long, short, then true destroying my shield. I evading them having given up the position which they gladly flowed into. A Beam rang across the bridge as the Doms rushed me: missing.

"Ca-ain behind…-u!"

"Shi-!" the thunder of suits falling and tearing metal dominating the sky as I drew my 2nd Beam Saber. Readying myself for the Doms I widen my stance bring my hands both forth, and fro.

"…-ark I-… inbou-… "

The leading Skirt drew its Heat Rod whilst firing its Bazooka. I rushing to taking the advantage I let loose my Vulcans dashing forward cut the Baz in two then defended with the spare saber, blocking the Heat Rod, body checking the Dom entirely, running right into the second Skirt. It looming upon me Bazooka ready to strike me down. Before made the corner and made mincemeat of its exposed back. It fell over in a flop denting a road in near perfectly ruined condition.

"You know Yark when we get back I'm gonn-" A Zaku came round the corner Heat Hawk swinging; Melting through the GM's arm. The machine gun falling over as he turned to bash the Zaku with the shield. The Zaku swings a lucky swing and directly cutting into the cockpit.

And there we were a Zaku on that side of the bridge, and a GM on this side of the bridge; we stood there for what seemed like an eternity. It began walking towards me, I walked towards it, It picked up the pace, I picked up the pace, I start sprinting, It starts sprinting. Until the point, we were almost on top of each other. I threw a Beam Saber to the left sidestepped right slashed an arm off and thrust through the cockpit.

And that was that.


End file.
